


Beyond the Grasp of Death

by AQA473



Series: KataRaka Collection [4]
Category: League of Legends
Genre: Death Sworn, F/F, Halloween, Happy Halloween, Skin Universe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-01
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-16 02:14:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21263423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AQA473/pseuds/AQA473
Summary: The Harrowing has washed over the land. Mortals scrounge and scurry to scrape by as their numbers dwindle. The Death Sworn have their roles, and they are sometimes unpleasant. Katarina carries out her master's will. It's only a matter of time before she begins to see the cracks in the seams.





	Beyond the Grasp of Death

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be a single large one-shot, but I am a procrastinator! This chapter is small, like super small, but I hope later chapters will have a little more meat. It obviously won't be Halloween anymore when this story finishes, but I hope you bear with me. More KataRaka nonsense that I hope at least one person will enjoy.

Sparks crackled in the pit, dying flames illuminating an audience of two. An elderly man, gray beard brushing his collar as he peered at the coals, and a woman only slightly younger, a long robe hiding her shape. A foot emerged from the mountain of weathered fabric to stoke the fire, but it only coughed before dimming further.

“It’s done, dearie. Let it die,” the man said.

“Yes, _let it die_.”

The couple looked around them, neither having produced the ethereal voice. The man turned to the surrounding woods and heard a sigh. Facing the woman again, a blue, translucent blade protruded from her chest. His voice failed him, but his feet didn’t.

He ran, faster than he’d ever ran in his life, faster than when he worked on the shores of the Mire. Flies and spores caught in his beard, his shoes sank into possessive mud, but he didn’t stop.

Otherworldly cackling echoed around him, and he swore he saw blue streaks in his periphery, but every glance only showed vacant forest.

He emerged into a clearing, shoes gone, clothes torn, but alive. Town was in sight. He wouldn’t be welcomed, not after what he’d done, but it was better than whatever killed his wife. He took a step forward, gasped, and fell into a heap.

Katarina stood over his body as the dagger in his back vanished in thin wisps, reappearing in her open hand. Her hand glowed pink as the blade spun lazily. Another soul to usher below.

“Are you quite done?”

Katarina looked up. A man in a long cape and a cowboy hat stood leaning against thin air, a silver card pinned between two fingers. Shining, turquoise eyes stared back.

She absorbed her daggers and ran fingers through what was once her hair. Now, it was slivers of blue that fell from her head like a morning mist.

“Tobias,” she said, her voice laden with the echoing souls of a hundred victims.

The card vanished in a puff of mist and he turned towards the town. “Just made a deal down there with the living-folk. Says they want to live forever.”

Katarina scoffed.

He grinned. “That’s what _I_ thought, but they was adamant. Told ‘em, ‘wanna get outta this? Give me _prosperity_.’”

“Always one for riddles.”

“They figured it out, alright.”

“Got a point to this tale?”

“Ya should head down there, sooner than later, if ya please, and pick up the girl.”

“Girl?”

He nodded. “She’s a gift to Death. You’ll know ‘er when ya see ‘er.” He tipped his hat as a ring of ghastly cards surrounded his feet. “Better hurry. The dawn doesn’t wait.”

In a flash of blue light, he was gone.

Katarina sighed. She hated the living.

\---

Heads turned as she walked through town. Doors shut, children were ushered inside, the homeless hid inside their shacks. The people of the physical world knew of the Death Sworn, feared them, but most knew better than to fight back. If one of the Sworn came to a town, it was for a reason, and interfering meant eternal damnation.

The town hall loomed overhead. It was little more than a moth-bitten ruin. The clock was still, drapes flowed in the breath of wind through broken windows, and the front doors sat forever ajar. Katarina walked in, the floor creaking.

Hushed voices murmured, but she ignored them as she continued. The interior was lit by candles and torches, but most were out by now, preparing for the morning.

She strode up to the mayor, a haggard woman with her fingers in her hair as her eyes scanned illegible text.

She looked up and her skin paled. She swallowed. “D-death Sworn. I guess you-you, uh, came for _her_.”

Katarina nodded.

The mayor swore under her breath. She jammed a thumb behind her. “In the courtyard.”

Katarina said nothing as she went that way, summoning her blades just in case. She knew better than to trust mortals.

She had only spent a scant few moments inside, but the sky was already brighter. She didn’t have much time.

The courtyard was little more than an intersection of paths. Patches of dirt where grass once grew filled the spaces between the pavement and a dead fountain sat in the middle. Perched on the edge of the fountain was a woman.

Her purple skin and billowing, yellow robes immediately separated her from the surrounding gray and brown. Dark hooves seemed to hover above the stamped gravel and her robe flowed elegantly around her purple legs. A single ivory horn protruded from her forehead. She looked to the Death Sworn.

“Hello, Kat. I knew I would see you again.”

Gravel crunched under Katarina’s boots as she approached. “Howdy, Soraka.” Mist fell off her shoulders like a bad omen.

Soraka looked down at a bright orange flower bud in her palm. Her eyes were cold. “I hoped I wouldn’t.”

“Sorry, rules are rules.”

“Rules of corruption, maybe.”

“And now they’re your rules, too.” She aimed her dagger at Soraka’s chest.

“I won’t fight you.”

Katarina stepped forward and plunged the blade into Soraka’s heart in a single movement. The cold, translucent blade shimmered as blood poured from the wound. Red stained the flower bud as it dropped from Soraka’s limp hand. Blood pooled in the empty fountain.

The blade disappeared as the last air in Soraka’s lungs escaped. Her eyes unfocused and her mouth dropped. Katarina caught her body before she fell, grasping her shoulders.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry it was me,” Katarina breathed into Soraka’s deaf ears.

The ground shattered, crackling with shafts of blue light. It buckled and churned, finally collapsing, taking Katarina and Soraka deep into the depths of the Underworld.


End file.
